“Let me get this straight,” said Ray, fingers interweaving over his stomach. “Jordan comes to town and meets Kit.”

  “At that point, according to Tommy, he was more bisexual than exclusively gay. But he was also actively looking for a beard. He didn’t lie to Kit. She knew from the beginning.”

  “How did they meet?”

  “Never thought to ask that question. I’m sure Kit would tell you.”

  “But will she tell me the truth,” he said, musing out loud. “Seems to me, the most important question is, what did she get out of it? Unless she was actually in love with him.”

  “Again, Tommy did say she was attracted to Jordan, and she could see he was going places.”

  “The attraction I understand,” said Ray. “But not the marriage part. Why saddle yourself with a sham marriage on the off chance that the guy hits it big in the music business? Kind of a long shot if you ask me. She participated for thirty years in helping him create this house of cards. That couldn’t have been easy.”

  Jane sipped her Coke. “Do you think Jordan was murdered by someone in his family?”

  “Family or family intimates. That’s where DePetro is headed. He’ll nail one of them. My fear is, it will be Kit.”

  “Because you think she’s innocent?”

  He laced his fingers behind his head. “She had the most to lose if the divorce went through. And if the world found out she and Jordan had been lying about their marriage all these years—the fallout would be hellish.”

  “There’s no way to keep that secret anymore.”

  “No,” he said, leaning forward to grab his beer bottle.

  She watched him take a sip, wondering what he was thinking. “You like her, don’t you.”

  “Like who?”

  “Kit.”

  His smile was wistful “Yes, I do. I’ve always been attracted to her. I think a lot of men are. She has a quality—hard to put your finger on. She’s fun. Unpredictable. And she was incredibly beautiful as a young woman. Still is, in my opinion.”

  Jane wondered if his attraction to her might cloud his judgment, though she didn’t say it out loud. Hearing the doorbell, Jane asked, “Are you expecting someone?”

  “Not that I know of.” He rose quickly and left the kitchen.

  Jane began to clear the table. She was putting the leftovers in the refrigerator when he came back holding an envelope.

  “Someone left this,” he said. “They stuck the letter in the door, rang the bell and took off.” He sat back down at the table and ripped the top open with his finger. “Huh,” he said, opening up a single folded piece of white typing paper.

  “What is it?”

  “I got one almost like this in the mailbox this morning. Except that one said, ‘R.A.Y.M.O.’ And now this one says, ‘R.A.Y.M.’ What am I supposed to make of that?”

  Jane took the note and studied it. There were no other marks on the page. “Let me see the envelope.”

  He handed it to her. “There’s nothing on it.”

  “Strange,” said Jane, flipping it from back to front.

  “A lot of strange people in this world doing a lot of strange things. And I’ve represented most of them.” He grimaced, then grinned. “Let’s not talk about business all evening. Tell me how you are.”

  “Me? Good.”

  “And how’s everything with Avi?”

  “She’s in Chicago at the moment.”

  “I suppose you miss her.”

  “I do.”

  He studied her over the top of his beer bottle. “Can’t say she makes you very happy. Just something I’ve noticed.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “We have some things to work out.”

  “Okay.”

  “You don’t like her?”

  He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “It’s not a matter of liking or not liking her. I’m not sure she knows what she wants. I’ve seen her high and low—all over the place emotionally. She doesn’t seem like a terribly good candidate for a stable, long-term relationship. Again, just a father’s observation.”

  Before Jane could figure out how to respond, her dad’s landline rang.

  “Better get that,” he said. He reached behind him and snatched the cordless off the counter. “Raymond Lawless. Oh, Kit, hi.” He listened. “I expected as much. I think our best course of action is for me to contact DePetro and tell him that you’re done talking, that there will be no more interrogations with you or anyone in your family.” He listened again, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Kit, that’s not smart. You hired me for my expertise in matters like this. It’s my opinion … Kit … Kit wait.” He looked over at Jane. “Yes, I understand that, but at this point, redeeming yourself with him isn’t possible.” He bent his head and didn’t speak for almost a minute. “If that’s your decision I can’t stop you. Yes, I can drive out and we can go through some of the questions he’s likely to ask. As long as you understand that you’re doing this against my advice. All right. I’ll be there shortly.”

  As he set the phone back on the kitchen counter, Jane raised her eyebrows.

  “DePetro’s office called. He’s scheduled a meeting with Kit tomorrow at nine A.M.”

  “You think he’s planning to arrest her?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, getting up, patting his pockets for his wallet and keys. “What I do know is that she shouldn’t be talking to him. I honestly think she’s planning a charm offensive. It’s ludicrous. She thinks she can present herself as cooperative, that by using her wiles she can help herself in some way. We’re long past that point.”

  “But she insists.”

  “She does. Which means I have to go, Janey. She’s my client.”

  And you’d do this for any client who asked, she thought. Accused thieves, rapists, murderers. Sure. Goes without saying.

  “I’m sorry I have to cut our evening short,” he said, slipping on his navy cardigan, “but you understand.”

  She did understand. Perhaps more clearly than he did.

  26

  DePetro pressed a button and started the digital recorder. “It’s Wednesday, October twenty-eighth, nine seventeen A.M., and I’m beginning my second interview with Katherine Deere. Also in the room is Mrs. Deere’s attorney, Raymond Lawless.” He looked up, opened a folder and took a pen out of his inner coat pocket.

  Kit nodded to him pleasantly, folded her hands. She refused to look at Ray, who’d made his opinion clear: She shouldn’t be here. She knew the questions would be tough and tricky. She would simply have to get through it. She’d instructed Ray to let the conversation play out, not to object or shut it down. This was her last chance to spin the situation to her advantage.

  “Mrs. Deere,” said DePetro. “I’d like you to walk me through last Sunday. You said you were home all morning, as were your children, Booker and Chloe.”

  “That’s right,” she said, her voice creamy and soft.

  “You’ve also said that Tommy Prior was home, as was your assistant, Beverly Elliot. And that Archibald Van Arnam arrived later. Shortly after ten. Is that correct?”

  She nodded.

  “Please respond with a yes or no.”

  “Yes.”

  “When was the last time you talked to your husband?”

  “Saturday morning. Beverly and I had just flown up from New Orleans, where I’d been starring in a play. He came on board right after we landed to welcome us home.”

  “And it was during that welcome home that he asked you for a divorce.”

  Knowing that DePetro had talked with Joji Mura yesterday, Kit felt there was no use keeping up her act. “Yes, that’s correct.”

  DePetro clicked the top of his pen. “Your husband was gay, is that correct?”

  “May I assume this is information you won’t release to the press?”

  He paused. “No, I won’t release it. For the moment.”

  “And that you’ll let me or Ray know before you do release this information?”

  “Agreed.”

  Kit felt she’d won an important concession. “Then, yes. My husband was gay.”

  “You knew he was gay when you married him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why did you marry?”

  “I loved him.” By the expression on DePetro’s face, Kit could tell it wasn’t the answer he’d expected.

  “He and Tommy Prior were … together for many years.”

  “Yes.”

  “Tommy spent time at your house.”

  “He did.”

  “And you knew he and Jordan were … lovers.”

  “Not right away, but eventually. Within the first year.”

  “Did your children know their father was a gay man?”

  “Not then.”

  “But they do now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was it a recent revelation?”

  “It was.”

  “How recent?”

  “Last week.”

  “Why, Mrs. Deere? Why tell them now?”

  “My husband said he thought it was time.”

  “And you agreed?”

  “I didn’t have a choice in the matter.”

  “Did that make you angry?”

  She tugged at one of her earrings. “No, of course not. It was always his decision.”

  “It must have come as quite a shock to your kids.”

  “I’m sure it did.”

  “How did they feel about Jordan coming out of the closet? About the world knowing that the two of you had lived a lie all these years?”

  “Our love for each other was never a lie. As for how the children feel, it’s not my place to speak for them.”

  “All right. Back to Sunday morning. You said you hadn’t talked to Jordan since he asked you for the divorce on Saturday. I’m in possession of cell phone records that show Jordan placed a call to you at six twenty-seven on Sunday morning. You talked for approximately four minutes. Do you deny that?”

  Kit glanced over at Ray, unable to escape the shock in his eyes. “No, I don’t deny it.”

  “You lied when you said you hadn’t talked to him since Saturday.”

  “I, ah … yes, I did.”

  “Why?”

  “Habit.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I lie about my relationship with Jordan out of habit. Surely you can understand.”

  “What did you and Jordan talk about on Sunday morning?”

  “He wanted to know if I was okay. He knew he’d dropped a bomb on me about the divorce and said he was sorry, that he would always love me, but that he stood by his decision. He apologized for leaving the way he did on Saturday night, not being there when I returned home.”

  “Did he tell you where he went?”

  “No. And I didn’t ask.”

  DePetro slipped his pen back into his shirt pocket. “Go on.”

  “I told him we needed to talk, and he said we would. Later that day. He’d called a family meeting for ten o’clock. He asked if everyone was still planning to be there. I said they were.”

  “By family meeting, who do you mean?”

  “Myself, Chloe and Booker, my oldest friend Beverly, Tommy, and Archibald.”

  “That’s your family?”

  “It is.”

  “And at this family meeting, Jordan was going to break the news about the divorce.”

  “I imagine.”

  “Your children would have been pretty upset by all this.”

  “They’re adults. They would have coped.”

  “But you had the most to lose.”

  “Jordan had the most to lose,” said Kit.

  Leaning back in his chair, DePetro studied her for a few seconds. “We were able to track your cell phone on Sunday morning. Assuming you had it with you, you left the house around seven and didn’t return until close to nine. Is that true?”

  “I—”

  “You don’t have to answer that,” said Ray.

  “I’m happy to answer. I have nothing to hide.” She rearranged her sweater, retied the belt. “I did leave. I thought I’d spend some quiet time in the sanctuary at my church before mass began at nine. But when I got there, I saw that there must have been an early mass scheduled, so I left and drove around.”

  “You drove to Bayview Park.”

  “No, I did not.”

  “We have records of your cell phone pinging off a cell phone tower not two miles from there.”

  “Our house isn’t more than four miles from the park. I wanted to be alone, to have some time to think, so I drove out to Bay Point Ridge, high above the park, and sat watching the waves.”

  “At the very least, you cannot state unequivocally that nobody in your family left your house that morning if you weren’t even home.”

  “I can state that,” she said, raising her voice for the first time. “I know because nobody in my family murdered Jordan. It’s not possible.”

  “It’s not possible because you murdered him.”

  The words felt like darts hitting her skin. “I didn’t.”

  DePetro allowed himself a small smile. Paging through the papers in front of him, he stopped when he found the one he was looking for. “Mrs. Deere, I wonder if you could tell me if you know any of these people. First, Dr. Daniel Woodson.”

  “Never heard of him. Who is he?”

  “Charles A. Nash.”

  Kit was momentarily thrown. “Yes,” she said carefully. “I know him.”

  “In what capacity.”

  “He was a friend. Many years ago.”

  “A lover?”

  “That’s right. Jordan and I, for obvious reasons, didn’t have an exclusive relationship.”

  DePetro returned to the page. “Samuel L. Burke?”

  “Another friend.”

  “And lover?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Donald P. Greer. Arturo Young. John D. Flemming. William Timothy Hudson. Alvin Bates. Kyle Todd.” He looked up. “All men you slept with?”

  The smug look on his face caused her throat to tighten. “Yes.”

  “Shall I go on?”

  “What’s your point?” asked Ray, his tone a mixture of disgust and impatience. “As Kit just said, she wasn’t in a monogamous relationship with Jordan Deere. Nor was Jordan with her.”

  “Tell me who Myron Oliver is,” said DePetro, his voice uncharacteristically mild.

  Kit bristled. “Another man I slept with.”

  “Where did you meet?”

  “New Orleans.”

  “So this man was a recent … admirer.”

  “I suppose. Yes.”

  “What did you two talk about?”

  “Could you be more specific?” asked Ray.

  “Mrs. Deere, did you ever tell Mr. Oliver that you were so angry at your husband that the only solution left to you was murder?”

  “Absolutely not,” said Kit, sitting up straight. “I never said that.”

  “What did you say?”

  “That I was angry, sure. Maybe I said something like, ‘I’m so furious I could kill him.’”

  “And the difference between those two statements is?”

  “You have to understand the context. I was at Myron’s house. It was late and we’d been drinking. I was confiding my feelings to him, telling him about my frustrations with Jordan. It’s just … something people say when they’re angry, when they’ve had too much to drink. I didn’t mean that I was planning to murder Jordan. That’s just crazy.”

  “And Myron never said to you that he could help. All you had to do was say the word.”

  Kit blinked. “He didn’t mean that, any more than I meant what I said.”

  “You didn’t tell him that you’d think about it?”

  “No. Absolutely not.”

  “And you never lie, Mrs. Deere, so we can rely on your word.”

  The room began to tilt.

  “During our search of your house on Sunday afternoon,” continued DePetro, abruptly changing topics, “we found your husband’s laptop. We took it with us and had some of our technicians examine it. It seems the laptop is missing its hard drive. Care to comment on why that is?”

  Her eyes jittered into focus. “I have no idea. You’d have to ask my husband about that.”

  “Which we obviously can’t do.”

  “No,” she agreed.

  “Was there something on that laptop that you, or someone in your family, didn’t want us to know about?”

  “Now you’re fishing,” interjected Ray. “Kit, don’t answer that.”

  “You lie so easily and so often that you wouldn’t know the truth if it bit you in the ass,” said DePetro.

  “That’s it,” said Ray. “Unless you’re arresting my client—”

  DePetro closed his file folder.

  Kit held her breath.

  “No, I’m not arresting her. Not yet. But cooperation goes a long way,” he said, directing the comment to Kit. “Sometimes lawyers don’t help you, they hurt you.”

  “Kit,” said Ray, rising from his chair. “We’re done.”

  27

  “Just the woman I wanted to see,” said Archibald as Cordelia sauntered into one of the conference rooms on the second floor of the theater’s east building late Wednesday morning. “You’re never going to guess what I found.” He’d been itching to show her.

  “I’m not sure I can take any more surprises,” she said, groaning.

  “Don’t be silly. You’re going to love this.” He swiveled his chair around and flipped through several badly framed oil paintings. Selecting the smallest first, he held it up. “Know who that is?”

  She leaned forward to get a better look. “Someone historic. The painting looks old.”

  “It’s Elijah Samuelson, the man who built the main theater building.”

  “Ah,” said Cordelia. “Love the bowler. Might have to get one of those myself.”

  “And this,” said Archibald, setting another, larger painting on his knees. “Guess who.”

  “No idea.”

  “Gilbert and Hilda King.”

  Cordelia squinted. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Why?”

  “Gilbert looks like Elton John during his straw-hat period. And Hilda is the spitting image of Eleanor Roosevelt.” She leaned halfway across the table. “Hmm. That’s quite a dress. And I’ve never seen a turban like that before. Black sequins, with that silver star on the forehead and a single feather erupting from the top. Hilda was a real fashion plate. I think I know what I’m going to wear to our grand opening.”